ight, though warm enough, yet bracing,
with a bright sky and pure atmosphere during the day. Sometimes a light
silvery mist or haze hung over the landscape. Such is the Indian
summer, the most delightful period of the year in North America.

The day's work was over, and while my brother and I were preparing the
table, and Sam Dawes was cooking the supper, we were startled by a loud
and peculiar shout, or rather shriek. Our father, who had been sitting
reading, started up, and taking his rifle from the wall, turned to the
door. Sam, quitting his frying-pan, also took down his rifle and
followed with us. In the distance was an Indian decked with war paint
and feathers bounding over the ground towards us, while further off were
five or six more, as if in hot pursuit of the first.

"That first fellow is an Ojibway by his adornments, and a young man by
the way he runs," observed Sam. "He's seeking protection here, that's
poz."

"And he shall enjoy it, though we should have to fight for him,"
observed my father warmly. "We must teach the Red men that we always
protect those in distress."

The fugitive came on at great speed. He was flying for his life. His
pursuers, however, were gaining on him. They had fire-arms in their
hands, but did not use them.

"They have exhausted their powder," observed my father. "That is
fortunate."

The young Indian was within fifty yards of us. We could see the gleam
of the scalping knives which his foes had drawn, thirsting for his
blood. He bounded on up to the door of the hut and fell exhausted
within. Then for the first time his pursuers perceived that we stood
armed at the entrance. Guessing truly that we possessed plenty of
ammunition, and two or more of their number might fall if they attempted
to advance, they paused, casting glances of disappointed vengeance
towards their victim, who lay unconscious behind us. Our father told
Malcolm and me to take him in and to try and revive him. We did so, and
when we had moistened his lips with water he quickly revived. Springing
up he seized Malcolm's gun and hurried to the door. The other Indians
had not moved. On seeing him, however, they instantly darted behind
some trunks of trees for shelter, and then we saw them darting away till
they got beyond range of our fire-arms. The young Indian would have
followed, but my father restrained him, and gave him to understand that
though he had saved his life he had no intention